When Sal was younger, he'd once asked his parents why he didn't look like the rest of the family. His parents had given him a scientific answer about genes and how they sometimes skipped a generation. It turned out that his grandfather on his father’s side had looked exactly like him. He, too, had been tall and with black eyes.
They showed Sal a photo of his great-grandfather, closing the case and changing the topic. Sal’s father got a sad, distant look in his eyes whenever the topic of his father came up. It wasn’t exactly sadness, but more worry or fear.
When Sal got older, he wanted to examine the case further and asked to see the photo again, but he was told that the photo was nowhere to be found. Apparently, Grandpa hadn't liked cameras, and only the one photo existed of him. Needless to say, Sal never knew his father’s parents as they'd died before he was born.
His father had a sister, Vickie, who was dedicated to her career, so they never got to see her except at Christmas. She didn’t care much for Sal. She'd never said so, but he could tell. Aunt Vickie cared for his other siblings, taking an interest in their school and such.
Sal knew she had to lie and pretend all the time, and she hated the fact that he knew.
Sal also knew about her abusive relationship and the facade she tried to keep and it hurt him deeply. He wondered how he had been the only one able to pick up on it.
One Christmas, when he was around ten years old, she broke into tears and screamed, “You little shit, Sal. Mind your own business. You're a freak. Stop looking at me.”
His crime: taking pity on her.
She hadn’t spoken a word to him since. His mother had defended him, but there was something else troubling her, something she wasn’t telling him.
They'd never really discussed the incident, but there had been a large elephant lurking around the house ever since. It pointed to the unspoken, strange mystery begging to be unraveled.
Fucking lies; they ruined everything.